


Hearts Don’t Flutter and Dreams Never End

by Keithan



Series: Happiness is a Butterfly [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-11
Updated: 2010-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keithan/pseuds/Keithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa smiles as if he's either half-awake, or he's stupidly in love and happy, and he thinks, maybe, he's both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Don’t Flutter and Dreams Never End

  
He wakes up on Christmas morning so much different from the way he wakes up for the past Christmas mornings in his life. For a brief moment, he thinks—as he sometimes does just after waking up—that he’s dreaming, and it’s not Christmas and he’s not in a large bed with a warm body spooned behind him. He’s still floating in that mindless state between dreaming and waking, and when he feels a distinct lack of presence in front of him, where his hands meet only warm, crumpled sheets, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows something is missing.

He opens his eyes and sees nothing but white. He blinks at the bright light of the morning sun, so much different from the darkness of sleep, before closing his eyes again. He raises a hand to his face, in a vain attempt to block it out.

When the arm around his waist moves, as if to hold him in place, he feels himself smiling a sleepy and dreamy smile that only the half-awake, and stupidly in love and happy can do. He thinks he’s both. He _knows_ he’s both, and the thought brings him more awareness than the morning sun can, because it trips his heart into a flutter, and he knows it’s not supposed to do that. He was Gundam pilot, he’s a Preventer agent, he’s a _clown_—his heart is not supposed to just _flutter._

He turns his face to his pillow, burying himself further beneath the thick blankets. “_God_, I’m _not_ dreaming,” he murmurs against the soft cotton, because he _is_ awake and his heart is fluttering early Christmas morning and the arm on his waist is not disappearing. He burrows his face deeper into the pillow because he’s smiling and he can’t help but keep smiling and he knows he looks stupid.

“If that’s you being sentimental, Barton, I don’t want to know,” says a voice behind him, low and rough with sleep, and when he thinks he can’t smile any wider, he does, because he feels the breath tickling the back of his neck when Heero moves his head closer to him. Heero, he knows, is not a morning person when he chooses not to be, and when he feels the arm around his waist tighten, feels Heero’s breath steady and close on his skin, he knows that this morning, Heero chooses _not_ to be.

“Then I won’t tell you,” he says, his words muffled, not only by sleep, but because his face is still deeply buried on his pillow. He reaches blindly at the empty space in front of him, his fingers closing in on layers of sheets. “Where’s Quatre?” he asks, but before he even finishes the question, he hears movement in the room.

“Here.” The voice is soft but clearly awake, and he curses himself for smiling that stupid, stupid smile once more. He turns fully into the pillow because damn him if he’d be caught by Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner smiling like an idiot.

“Stop _wriggling._” Heero’s voice sounds more awake now and he doesn’t know if he’s relieved in not being caught smiling like an idiot but rather, wriggling like a fool. He wonders if it matters, because Heero just tightens his hold and pulls him closer.

“I don’t _wriggle_, Yuy.”

He hears Quatre’s laugh above them, and he finally turns his head, just slightly, and peeks out of the mess of his hair and pillow and sheets. He sees sunshine of a different kind, and his heart—the _traitor_—gives another flutter. “Good morning,” he says.

“Merry Christmas,” Quatre answers, his smile as warm as sunlight. “You both are too sweet. You give me cavities more than any Christmas sweets.”

He laughs, soft and sleepy, and he hears Heero snort behind him. “Come back to bed, Quatre,” Heero says, and Quatre does, with the smile never leaving his face.

He shivers when the blankets are lifted, but Heero’s hand rubs up and down his arm. He’s not sure if the warmth he feels comes from the inside or the outside, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t feel like it’s Christmas, except that he remembers how the celebration last night ended with Wufei sprawled on the couch because Duo and Quatre spiked his drink. He thinks he can get used to this, to Christmas mornings in large beds, with warm bodies, like he’s getting used more and more to mornings with Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner with him on the bed.

Quatre settles down in front of him, and his arms go around Quatre’s body to pull him closer. He feels Heero’s hand reach out, Quatre’s hand meeting it and their fingers lay entwined on his hip. When Quatre asks, “What’s with your smile, Trowa?” he can’t turn and hide on the pillow, so he wraps his leg around Quatre and pulls him even closer so that he can bury his face in Quatre’s hair instead.

“Nothing,” he says, smiling into the soft, golden strands. “It’s nothing.” He feels Heero doing the same thing, smiling into his shoulder and neck, except that he feels Heero holding back a laugh, too. “Oh, shut up, Heero,” he says, and he feels them both chuckle.

They lay quietly until Quatre’s breathing evens out, and he hears Heero whisper, _Go back to sleep, Trowa,_ and he’s slipping once more into that state between being awake and being asleep. He knows he’s dreaming when, soon after, he opens his eyes to the sight of the sea, sparkling blue and never-ending. But somewhere, in the back of his unconscious mind, he knows he’s not dreaming alone.

And in his dream, he smiles.

**26.12.09**


End file.
